3. Ara
My father travels often for work. As the head of Barone enterprises, he is hardly ever home. To see him here, in New York always seems like a novelty. It was never to visit me specifically, but to handle business dealings and charities our numerous companies are associated with. He still doesn’t entirely trust me to represent his enterprise, despite running one of his app design companies, Cleo.
He was reluctant to let me leave Boston because there, he was able to keep a close eye on me. Considering my half-brother is only ten, he didn’t have an heir he could depend on to help manage his businesses. So, I used his egotistical weakness as my out of Boston. We made temporary terms so I could prove myself to him and I could live in New York. The only time we conversed was when he travelled here. My father rarely brought my stepmother, Sarah, to events such as these. To even call her a stepmother was disturbing considering she was only four years older than me at thirty-one.
“Arabella, don’t you think so?” Lily asks, snapping me out of my stupor. Lily is who I consider the closest thing I have to a friend since moving to New York. She owns the local florist located on the same block as Cleo. Her parents don’t entirely understand her store, calling it a passion project and encouraging her to settle down with a wealthy husband—pressuring her in the same way most of the women are in this social circle.
“Don’t I think what?” I ask, apologetic.
“You’ve been spacing on me a lot lately. Don’t you think the dress Camille Blanchet is wearing today is stunning?” The emerald silk spills over her body splendidly and draws me back into the luxurious room. Grand chandeliers dangle above us. Floor to ceiling windows display the glittering nightlife around us. Paintings on auction are up on display as an upcoming artist greets new guests. I realize quickly that said artist is none other than Camille’s sister and new and upcoming isn’t the title I’d label her. I’d heard the family was trying to get her on the “straight and narrow” since she was enjoying the party life too much in college. This was a means to give her “purpose and drive.” But that could all be rumor. Either way, all of the paintings will sell for a lucrative price and be donated toward the charity of choice, which just so happens to be the homeless in the city. It’s a good cause despite the alternative agenda.
I sip from my champagne as Lily sighs and takes an appreciative glance back toward Camille. I don’t know why; she’s one of the most beautiful women in this room herself. She has long caramel hair and porcelain skin. We couldn’t be more opposite. I have dark as night hair placed in a high ponytail, tan complexion from my mother’s Italian heritage and a jagged scar that runs along my collar bone. When I apply enough make-up it’s almost—but not completely—covered. At least not in my father’s eyes. He made sure to hire makeup artists when I was twelve so I could learn how to cover it up.
I was certain, even now, he felt the scar represented the tragedy from that night. It was a reminder of his inability to protect his home and family. But more importantly, an issue with him…a stain on his name as if a shameful sin.
“Oh, wow. Luca’s attending tonight,” Lily says in awe, and my heart lodges in my throat at the mere mention of him.
Luca walks in like a king. There’s an air about him, one that says everyone is beneath him and I imagine he wholeheartedly believes it to be true. He’s wearing all black, the only color I’ve ever seen him wear, which is always such a contrast to his bright blue eyes and tan complexion.
People notice when he enters the room; the air shifts, crowds part, and conversations literally halt in order to make space for him.
He’s beautiful. Wealthy. Intelligent. But he exhibits what most don’t have in this room…
Unrelenting toxic confidence.
“Arabella.” I hear my father’s voice behind me. I hold in the sigh and take a sip before blossoming a smile.
“Father,” I say considerately, stepping in to give him a hug. His gaze assesses my attire, and a grim line streaks his face.
“An interesting choice of attire?” He is referencing the golden shimmery dress. Because my father doesn’t like it when his daughter stands out. To be seen and not heard were his teachings for social settings—especially since my mother’s passing. Perhaps it was because it evoked questions about the incident.
“Didn’t you say it was time I started looking for a husband?”
After my mother’s death, my father didn’t know how to handle me. Our exchanges became more rigid as the years went on, and I was certain, until my little brother, Tristan, was born, he’d always wished I was a boy instead.
I’ve always made it a point to far exceed any talents and results a son could offer him. I work hard to make sure I’m not replaceable. Until of course, I achieve what I came to New York for.
“Looking implies you haven’t yet found one,” my father says, stepping in and smiling as a photographer approaches us. Like clockwork, we both smile. He knows I have no intention of looking.
As soon as the photographer leaves, I take another harsh swallow of my champagne.
“Apologies. I thought the thirty-two percent increase in sales and influence within the market would’ve impressed you. It’s been difficult to find a husband while also making those vast improvements to the company.”
This time his gaze softens. “I am impressed, Arabella. You’ve done well in the six months you’ve been here. Far more than Timothy.”
Ah. Timothy. The previous CEO whose scandal was brought to light, giving him no other choice then to resign. Appropriately, I was able to take the role instead. I went under an alias as Lisa Strutton and destroyed Timothy from the inside out. It was easy to unravel him and get close considering he only thought about his cock and ego.
Everyone here has skeletons in their closet—ones begging to be exploited. The trick? Don’t get caught. Never be ousted as the individual who brings light to said scandals. Anonymous articles to the media are a powerful thing.
Liars. Cheats. This city is full of underhanded dealings.
I’m no different, considering I was the one to bring Timothy down.
Everyone in this room wears a mask.
Especially me.
And especially him.
Luca stands across the room. Flocks of powerful men are engaging in conversation with him, and their wives and escorts are trying to catch his eye. I keep my breath steady just like I’ve been doing since the moment he walked in. He doesn’t know who I am. There’s no way he knew it was me last night; I’m always careful in my disguise.
His gaze meets mine, and my heart falters.
Does he know?
His stare cuts through me, and it’s as if he’s looking into my very soul. It’s downright uncomfortable. So, I do what most women in this room would when graced by his attention. I offer a flirtatious, flattered smile. The moment I do, he looks away with a hint of disgust. Thank goodness.
“Earth to Ara?” Lily waves a hand in front of my face. She follows my gaze and smirks. “Oh, in that case, don’t let me interrupt.”
“It’s not like that,” I dismiss the action quickly while chancing another glance. Camille Blanchet is now conversing with him. I’m sure they’d be well-suited, as long as she never finds out about his dirty little secret and business.
“Really, because I’m pretty sure in the last six months of knowing you, I haven’t seen you once ogle someone.”
“I’m not ogling him.”
“Eye-fucking? Better?”
She laughs at my cutting glare. It’s what I like most about Lily. She isn’t discouraged by my…directness. The polarity of our personalities is rather intriguing. She’s bright and outgoing. Whereas I’m reserved and abrasive.
Most don’t want to share the same space as me, which is how I prefer it because the feeling is often mutual. I don’t have time for useless conversations and relationships.
“Are we still on for tomorrow morning? Breakfast with the girls?”
I offer a small, agreeable smile. Friendship isn’t something I need. Especially considering how much time my other hobbytakes up. Something no one else knows, of course. But I know I need to integrate into the city. If I’m too much of a lone wolf, I’ll stand out. I continuously remind myself the life I created here is a fa?ade; it helps avoid becoming attached to anything or anyone. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
I notice Luca leave the room and feel the sweet relief ripple through me. Tension slowly eases from my body and I hate how much standing in the same room with him, had this effect on me. Last night rattled me. I’ve never been caught. Perhaps playing with fire—with the mafia boss—is idiocy. I know it is. But it’s the only way I can get my answers.
I wonder how many in this room know the depths of his association with the mafia. His father was more notorious and known for his violence. Particularly because he didn’t hide it. Luca is different, no less violent but more careful about his public image in an attempt to manage his many legal businesses.
I’ve done nothing but research him for the past six months.
Luca Armani is a man I know inside and out—even simply watching him from afar.